


Do Not Ask For Love

by donotaskforlove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donotaskforlove/pseuds/donotaskforlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is content with the way his entire life has unfolded, really. It's just that, sometimes, it's really hard to ignore Zayn's entire existence the way he's so brilliantly taught himself how to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Ask For Love

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The fakest thing in the world! Totally Au! Totally never happened!
> 
> Oh gosh! I'm an American writing about a British boy band as I am facing down the utter terror that is pharmacy school. 
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd or anything like that, so my sincerest apologies if you find too many Americanisms in this. I tried, I really did. 
> 
> If it weren't for my friend and her sister, this would never have seen the light of day. Damn them for being the enablers that they are.
> 
> This also contains a POV switch (to Zayn's POV) in the second half, just because I thought it worked better. Getting a glimpse of things from Zayn's side. Hopefully it isn't too confusing. 
> 
> The title of this and my username are as corny as I feared, sadly.

+++

 

“It's impossible to look at him straight on, really.”

The radio guy laughs and slaps his thigh and Zayn just grins and shoots Harry an amused look. Harry shrugs his shoulders coolly and adds, “I'm just being honest. It's kind of a painful experience, staring at that much pretty at one time.” Zayn ducks his head (his cheeks pinking up a little) and groans. “Ugh, stop it. You're making me blush,” Zayn moans out, like he's in pain, hiding his face in Harry's shoulder.

Harry coos at him and drops a kiss on his head. “It's okay, love. I won't let anyone take advantage of you.”

The guys start laughing and quickly steer the conversation back to talks of how their second album is going, and Harry tries to control the spastic beat of his heart. The noise is loud enough to drown out everything around him for a few seconds, and he internally jerks back to his surroundings when Zayn grabs his hand and squeezes once before leaning over Harry to play-fight Niall, who is besmirching Zayn's character with a cheeky grin.

It's so fucking unfair, really. Just looking at Zayn's profile makes Harry want to gut himself and bleed out all over the place.

He stubbornly swallows his vomit-inducing emotions and jumps back into the conversation in time to inform the world at large that he, too, has also measured his cock.

Important bit of information. Louis winks at him and slouches in his seat.

Just another day on the job.

 

+++

 

The thing is, Louis is easy.

Louis is fun and daring and sometimes quiet in unexpected bursts that take Harry by surprise. Louis is also aware that all of it is just two mates getting off, that it's not so very serious at all. Louis is all about having a good time with the emotional baggage left at the door.

The far more confusing feelings that Harry knows he has for Zayn (who is untouchable) he accidentally starts focusing and projecting on Louis.

He knows he's fucked as soon as he realizes what's happening, but it's too late.

Harry loves explosions and noise and fireworks. This is the next best thing.

 

+++

 

Harry grumbles awake from his nap and blearily looks about. Zayn is sat right beside him and also trying valiantly to blink himself awake. Zayn rubs a hand down his face and smooths his hair to the side, frowning.

Harry looks at his sleepy eyes, his long lashes and messed up hair, and internally convulses. Harry's mouth pulls down in disgust and he says, maybe a little meanly, “God, I hope you get a huge, massive zit on your forehead or chin. Your nose. Or that you prematurely bald.”

“What?” Zayn croaks out, voice rough and his expression switching from confused to offended, and Harry drags himself from his seat to go bother Louis or Niall.

Fucking unfair. All of it.

 

+++

 

They are being primped up for a photo shoot, and the lady fixing Zayn's coif is making cow eyes at him while Zayn smirks at her, his eyes cast down.

Harry pretends to gag for a second, then says, “I hope you have, like, really hideous children.”

Zayn's eyes catch his in the mirror, and Harry doesn't shy away from the confused, calculating stare.

“I am not even joking a bit. They better be unsightly, is what I'm saying.”

Zayn opens his mouth to say something, and Harry is almost breathless with how badly he wants to hear Zayn's reply, when Louis storms into the room in a tight, green corset and everything goes to hell.

Harry might pinch Louis a little harder than he means to in the ensuing chase (and scuffle), but the wanker deserves it.

 

+++

 

“I am going to age like George Clooney, undoubtedly. My mum's side of the family ages like fine wine,” Louis announces with a great deal of excitement, and Harry rolls his eyes.

Zayn snorts out a laugh and says, “I doubt it, mate. You get too much sun, yeah?”

“So?” Louis snaps back, no longer slumped on the couch.

“Just,” Zayn says, shrugging his shoulders casually, “you're bound to get wrinkly and old much earlier than the rest of us.”

Louis dive-bombs on top of Zayn and starts mercilessly tickling him.

“Well,” Harry muses out loud, to the room at large, “I hope Zayn ages like Jude Law or Brendan Fraser. If there's any justice in the world, that will be the case.”

Zayn's muffled, indignant shout gets lost as Louis tries to sit on his head.

 

+++

 

Harry knows that he acts, for the lack of a better word, bipolar around Zayn. It's something that occurs without him even really knowing that he's doing it, and it's obvious that Zayn is all beauty and no brains (he always acts so surprised, the bastard), because the sad, confused expression he gets on his face is a huge tell. Harry would like to buy him a clue, but he isn't that absurdly rich, sadly.

The days where he finds himself cuddling with Zayn are the worst, though. Most times Harry is happy and content and living freely, then the reality of Zayn carding his fingers through Harry's hair is like a punch to the gut. It leaves him ill and breathless and reeling. He wonders how he manages to fool himself at all (to fool anybody, really), when so little undoes all of his good, hard work.

During these moments, he'll excuse himself with a tightly pinched smile and try to ignore the worrying, sympathizing looks he knows he's getting from Louis.

It's always like starting all over again, on those days.

 

+++

 

Throughout the months, there are many times, though, when Harry feels like it might be enough. All of it. Every big and small thing he has with Louis and the girls (or women) he sleeps and finds comfort with.

The women call him pretty and let Harry lose all of himself in the tight heat of their bodies and in their soft, breathy sighs, and being with Louis is like swallowing fireworks. It's exactly what Harry has been looking for along.

Sometime he'll still catch himself staring at Zayn, and wondering. Thinks about Zayn's tiny, sincere smiles, the ink standing out sharply on his skin, and the bend of his elbow, so fucking delicate. The way each laugh Harry surprises from out of Zayn feels different than with anybody else.

But it's always brief, and it aches only little.

Harry thinks this is how it feels to grow up.

 

+++

 

Zayn thumps his feet against the drawers and cabinetry as he sits on top of the kitchen counter, texting idly as he waits for the sound guy – a poor bloke named Bartholomew, hilariously and sadly enough – to call him in again for his bit. Niall and Louis have already gone home, maybe a little more than an hour ago. Zayn slumps a little and tries to stave off the boredom crawling into his bones. Boredom usually translates into taking a nap, but in this case, being woken up from a short, dissatisfying nap only to get more recording done is the last thing he wants to do.

It's not like he's not thrilled that he's got more parts in their second album, but it's just a lot of work. Zayn looks up as Liam storms into the room to grab a water bottle from the fridge, point mock-accusingly at Zayn with furrowed eyebrows, and then trudge back gravely like a man facing a firing squad. Zayn grins at his retreating back and quickly yells, “March on, soldier. Back straight! Puff out your chest!” He is very glad that at least Liam and Harry get to suffer along with him.

Even though Liam had come pretty close to knocking his head off clean for messing up one of his high notes one too many times (three times only, Christ) earlier on, it was still worth it. “Really, Zayn? Get it together, please. I'm _begging_ you. I'd like to get out of here in time to face my impending mid-forties midlife crisis and buy myself an outrageously expensive vehicle.” Harry had thrown his head back and laughed, Liam had deflated and pouted, while Zayn had merely blown Liam a kiss. It had been a long day, overall. Good thing they are nearly done and just putting the finishing touches on the album now.

“Hey, Len says to go see him in half an hour. I think we've wrapped up for the day,” Harry says in a low voice, and Zayn's head whips up. Harry looks the same way he's been looking for a week. Two weeks, maybe a month. None of them really know what to do with him (expect Louis, who has been doing an impressive job of not caring), but Zayn is hoping that Harry will seek one of them out – hopefully Liam – when he's ready.

Zayn's mouth shapes into an uncertain smile. “Hey, Haz.” Harry drops down into a chair and puts his feet up on the rec room kitchen table. He's frowning as he taps away on his mobile.

Harry doesn't say anything in reply, and Zayn thumps one of his booted feet hard into a drawer and Harry's eyes dart up to meet Zayn's questioning look. “What?” Harry bites out, but it's more for show. Artificial heat, anger. It's his trademark when he's hurt. It's an act. Zayn knows him too well. Zayn knows them all too well.

Zayn puts his mobile down beside him and shrugs his shoulders. “Nothing. Just... I'm here, if you want.” It's awkward since Zayn's never any good with words when they matter most, but he ruefully smirks and runs his hands up and down his thighs, unsure. Harry will either take it or leave it. Zayn isn't going to pretend he's Liam.

“Thanks, but no thanks, mate. Stick to fixing your own crap, yeah?” Harry's smile stretches out in all the wrong ways, and it's not really a grin at all. It's far meaner, twists up his entire face. (It reminds Zayn of how they were, at first. So uneasy and tongue-tied in each other's company. Always stepping on each other's toes.)

Zayn has been trying to mind his own business and ignore all the signs, because Louis and Harry started this, and they should be the ones to fix up their own fuck-ups. It shouldn't be Zayn getting his head bitten off, since he's here. He's not pretending Harry doesn't exist. That the problems don't exist.

Zayn shakes his head and snorts, plays with the threads sticking out of the tear in his jeans. He wants to yank them out. “Wow, mate. I'm actually choosing to be here. Serves me fuckin' right.” He doesn't know how to tell Harry the rest of it. One of the threads he yanks at actually widens the tear in his jeans obscenely and he grimaces. It's upper thigh. That's a lot of leg.

Harry barks out a half-mad laugh and claps his hands together. “Congratulations! You are a decent human being!” He springs up from his chair like a sprung coil, his shoulders a little hunched in, eyes zoomed in on Zayn and piercing. “You don't suck like the rest of them!” He theatrically gasps and brings up a hand to his face, working the crazy with all the dramatic flair he's got. “Let me give you a gold star,” Harry says loudly, faux-enthusiastically, and jerks his hands inside his pockets.

“Oh, piss off, you tosser.” Zayn sneers at him and snatches his mobile back up in his hand. Game over. Starts texting randoms shit he'll probably regret later. Harry is hurt and he's doing it on purpose, but he's almost unbearable like this. Louis knows best what to do with him. Louis isn't here.

A hand lands in the center of Zayn's chest – the fingers tugging, digging in – and Zayn glances up, despite his anger. Harry's face is a tragedy; his eyes a little shiny, working out his feelings with his entire body – letting his emotions crash over him like a tidal wave.

“Do you really want to know?” Harry weakly asks, leaning in, eyes wide and lost, fingers gripping Zayn's t-shirt tightly.

Zayn doesn't know what to say. He wants to call for Liam. Hand Harry off like he's a crying toddler making a mess of things. Making a mess of everything. “Yeah. _Yes_ , if you think it'll help,” Zayn says urgently, settling on the first thing that comes to mind. He rests his hand on top on Harry's and squeezes, trying like hell. Trying because he has to.

Harry huffs out a bark of a laugh and shuts his eyes. Zayn waits. Harry takes in a shaky breath and folds into Zayn like he's melting where he stands, his head coming to rest in the crook of Zayn's shoulder. His hot, quick breaths hitting Zayn's neck and collarbone and making him feel a little sick to his stomach. A little more helpless.

Zayn lets him hang on from his shirt, and pulls him in with his thighs, his legs hooking with Harry's and trying to steady him. Let him have whatever it is he's looking for.

“It's like the worst fucking feeling in the entire world,” Harry whispers brokenly, and Zayn puts an arm around his shoulders and hangs on, says, “I'm so sorry, love. I wish I could make it better.” Harry tightens his hand in Zayn's shirt and blurts out, “It started off as just mates getting off. Then like a complete twit, I started to _care_ more, care about his fucking everything, and he thought is was sweet. I let it happen.” He trails off and shakes his head, Zayn feeling the motion of it, not seeing much of his face.

“I'm sure he's just as lost. He cares about you, Harry, I know he does,” Zayn says, and Harry whips his head up and spits out, “Don't _say_ that. Don't you _fucking_ say that.” Then, just as suddenly, his face crumples and Zayn desperately tugs him into his embrace with his arms and legs like some sort of demented octopus.

“He cared about me when he thought he was just experimenting, that it meant nothing. The minute shit hits the fan, he panics. He fucking panics and shuts it down and lets them rewrite everything. Lets them build him a new world where everything is safer and neater and less queer. He fucking played me,” Harry growls raggedly, and just when Zayn is thinking _you played each other_ and _no more, no more_ , Harry finally starts heaving great, big breaths and cries. It kills Zayn, absolutely kills him that he can't do much else. He tightens his embrace and cups the back of his neck, places fast, soft kisses on his head, forehead. Anywhere he can reach. “Hush, love, hush.”

It goes on like that for another minute, and when Harry finally tapers off and seems to sag completely, emotionally spent, Zayn drags him to the couch and hands him a box of tissues and a bottle of water. Harry doesn't look at him as he wipes his face and clears his clogged up throat before he takes a sip of water.

Zayn stands there like an idiot, not knowing what to do next. Harry quickly glances up at him, clearly embarrassed (his face red and blotchy), and rolls his eyes. _Rolls his eyes_. Zayn is a little offended, honestly. “What?” Zayn blurts out indignantly, and Harry fondly mutters, “Idiot,” then tugs him down on the couch right next to him. Or on top of him. Zayn isn't very graceful.

Harry lets out a noisy sigh and drops his head down onto Zayn's shoulder. Zayn throws his arm around Harry's shoulders and suddenly fears that they aren't done walking through the mine field yet.

“I'm appointing you as my new BFF and you are going to nurse and nurture me back to my golden god status.” Harry pauses, letting it sink in, then adds, “It might take some time, but I'm pretty resilient, so it's not impossible.”

Zayn frowns. “A mum role? Do you want me to fetch Liam?” Harry chuckles and pokes Zayn in the side. It's a sharp jab, and Zayn is stupidly glad. Progress.

“No. Sorry. You've won. No take-backs. You have the golden ticket. May the odds ever be in your favor,” Harry says with a small smile, and Zayn tugs on a strand of hair. Harry clears his throat and murmurs, “Sorry for being a shit friend about you and Perrie a few weeks back.”

Something in Zayn's chest feels a little lighter at the words, and it's funny, because he didn't know that Harry's lack of interest and support over his breakup had gotten to him like that. (Zayn still feels his chest get a little too tight with hurt when he thinks about Perrie, and wonders when the feeling will fade away.) Zayn drops a kiss to his cheek and says, “You're a self-involved twat. I already knew that about you,” and Harry raises his head to glare and hit him upside the head. “Pot. Kettle. Classy move, Malik.” Then he smiles a small but genuine smile and straightens up, fixes his t-shirt. Zayn looks at him as Harry gets to his feet like a bruised, old man and cracks his neck, his fingers.

Zayn grimaces and says, “Ouch,” and Harry tosses a grin over his shoulder and holds out his hand, looking at Zayn expectantly, eyebrows raised.

“What? Where you headin'?” Zayn is kind of dreading this new BFF title, and sits there stubbornly, arms crossed.

Harry tsk-tsks loudly and swoops down to twist Zayn's nipples harshly and yank him up when Zayn curses and flails. “You are already failing in your newly appointed and highly desirable position. Disappointing.”

Zayn half-heartedly tries to break free of his hold, but it's no use. Harry is on a mission. “I guess you don't recall that I never agreed to or accepted this 'highly desirable' role.”

Harry laughs – as he drags Zayn down the hallway and to the recording room – and confidently says, “You didn't need to. I know for certain that you've been yearningly waiting for this day to come, you adorable wretch.” He shoots a quick-silver grin over his shoulder and squeezes Zayn's hand. “I thought it would get messy if I let you shower me with your unending gratitude.”

Zayn tries to drag his feet a little and pinches the inside of Harry's wrist. “You are an unbelievable git,” Zayn swears, not really meaning it. Not really knowing why he's trying to break free, step back.

“Hush, deary. We're here to collect poor, overworked Liam and send him off home like a good lad,” Harry says, and throws his arm over Zayn's shoulders as they watch the sound and mixing guys running over some things with Len and Liam.

“Hey! We're good to go,” Liam says, sounding much relieved, and Zayn lets Harry drag Liam away as Len talks to him about re-recording one of his solo verses tomorrow and generally making Zayn feel a little glum.

Liam leaves to meet up with Danielle for dinner, and Zayn lets Harry pick out a restaurant (their driver ushers them inside quickly and pointedly raises his eyebrows at the obscene hole in Zayn's jeans), despite the fact that he kind of wants some space.

In the car, Harry deflates a little and quiets down. It's like he's closing up all over again, so Zayn scoots closer to him and holds his hand, their fingers tangling together. Harry looks down at their hands for a few seconds, and then he glances up at Zayn and his mouth twitches up in an unsure half-smile.

They don't say anything after that for a few minutes, but then Harry whispers in his ear, “If you ever find the one, the right person, what will you do?” Zayn is almost falling asleep at this point, and is jerked back to the present by Harry's small voice and warm hand. They still haven't let go. (The question bounces around in his head like a tennis ball on crack. It feels like a test of sorts.)

Zayn rolls his head to see what's brought this on, and is caught a little off guard when he finds Harry staring back at him, with a careful, reserved look playing on his face. He looks so weary, so fucking exhausted. Zayn impulsively moves in and places a soft, quick kiss on Harry's cheek and then ducks his head, puts in on Harry's shoulder.

“I'd tell management and our label to bugger off and let me be,” Zayn says just as quietly, his heart racing inside his chest for some unfathomable reason. He immediately realizes that it's true, that he would. How often do people really find the right person, who's meant to be the one that gets to stand beside them through thick and thin? It's a hell of a lot less often than what their songs imply. Zayn has already been very fucking wrong about it once before.

“Hmm,” Harry replies, and brings their joined hands into his lap, plays with Zayn's fingers. “You just might make it as a BFF, I think. Surprisingly enough, you might not even be crap at it.”

Zayn turns his head to bite Harry's shoulder in retaliation and the moment bursts like a bubble as they start laughing.

Zayn doesn't really know if he qualifies as a super BFF, and he doesn't even think that Harry knows what he's asking for, but he's willing to try. And hoping that Liam is ready step in, just in case.

He tugs Harry out of the car as they reach the small Italian restaurant that Harry is so fond of, and thinks, _baby steps._

Massive fucking baby steps.

 

 

END 


End file.
